


Cantar de Procella

by Morgause1



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Amoral Mairon, Angst, Begging, Dagor Dagorath, Destiny, End of the World, Fate, Future Fic, Gen, God - Freeform, Good!Melkor, Love, M/M, Master/Servant, Moral Dilemmas, Morgothless Melkor, Psychic Bond, Psychic Violence, Rewrite, Romance, Soul Bond, The Seduction of Mairon, Vala/maia, Valinor, Weird naming, angbang, kabbalistic imagery, painful memories, Ósanwe
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-28
Updated: 2019-06-03
Packaged: 2020-03-26 05:52:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,230
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19000027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Morgause1/pseuds/Morgause1
Summary: Eä is old and Anar’s light has dimmed and reddened. The spirit who was once called Mairon trudges on in Valinor, performing whatever petty tasks are still required by the uncaring and undying. But it all changes when a new Vala descends from the Timeless Halls.IMPORTANT: this is a new version of a fic with the same name (still in my list of works if anyone's interested)! It's heavily re-written and has (at least) one extra chapter.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I think that in the beginning, Melkor loved Eru and tried to mimic him out of worship and not in defiance. For that he was pushed away and Disowned – the Soul Bond between them was broken by Eru and Melkor was cast away. In his misery, he then turned to inflict his own terrible pain unto others. Later this craving was manifested in his insane lust after the Silmarils, which contained only a sliver of that divine Light. But hide it as well as he did, Melkor never really gotten over his need for his absent and remote Lord.
> 
> I used Torah (Genesis) and Kabbalah imagery throughout this fic, and Jewish names and titles for Eru. Some are more self-explanatory, like the Infinity, the Presence and the Source, but I think that at least one of them must be explained:  
> The Place – God is the place of the world. He is not contained within Creation, but Creation is contained within him.
> 
> (Also search for “Ecstasy of Saint Teresa” by Gian Lorenzo Bernini, if you don’t know it. It’s very beautiful and relevant.)

Nothing could survive in the formless Void and nothing did: Matter collapsed upon itself and was annihilated, and Spirit was razed down to its very Core. Even the Core could only flicker faintly, barely clinging to life in the wastes of Outside.

There was nothing in the Nothing, no heaven and no earth, except for one Spirit. It was very ancient, this spirit, and full of helpless malice. The Void was filled with its grinding hate, and anger, and woe, but was still empty. Nothing would have changed until the last day, when Eru would close His hand around Eä to snuff it out of existence, but at one point in Time immeasurable, there was Light, and the Nothing became Everything.     

_Belekôrôz_.

 

Now it must be made clear that this tale is a translation made for the sake of the Eruhini, and so the terms and images it will use are those comprehensible for Eldar and Atani minds. This is not how it was, in that realm of imperishable souls known as the Timeless Halls, but it is still the truth.

 

The spirit, shriveled and forlorn, lifted his gaze to the throne of the Presence.

“What do You want?”

The Presence ignored the harsh tone of the spirit’s thought. Instead, He did the impossible: reaching out and illuminating Melkor’s soul, He offered him the thing he had lost so long ago, that he could not remember what it was like to have it. Melkor could not even remember how desperately he wanted it back then, how it hurt.

Salvation.

To return to his Source, to belong to Him again.

Melkor was aghast. For a long while he could not speak.

“No.”

_Yes_.

“Truly, after all this time?” he finally managed to grind out. “After I’ve marred Your creation so deeply it could not be healed? After I’ve defied You, tortured and slaughtered Your Children, You who are called the All-father? The entire Arda is drenched in the blood of my atrocities! And now I’m supposed to believe that You would have me back, just like that? No! This is some trick, one of Your games, and I don't want to be played.”

The offer was extended again, shimmering and enticing. It wrapped around him, gentle and comforting in its magnitude, soothing away his aches and worries. This was no trick. It was real.

_You’ve paid for your sins, Belekôrôz. I forgive you._

That magnificent Light he hungered for so long ago, that rejected him, that drove him mad with longing when he could not have it, was suddenly within his reach. Abundant, beautiful, an end to his suffering and bereavement. Melkor faltered, dizzy with re-awakened need.

It was too late. Paradise, once lost, could never be regained. Melkor fought to keep whatever bits of his frayed mind he still possessed. Even if he were at the peak of his power and not so deranged after a forever in the Void, he was no match for Him. Still, he would not go out without a fight.

“No. Put me back in the Void, for all I care. I will never submit to You again.” He was dimly aware of his twin standing at the foot of the throne and of some others of his more prominent siblings nearby, but it was hard to make out their souls in the all-blinding Light. His twin was radiating pity and worry. Melkor loathed him.

_You need not be afraid. Open your mind to me._

But he  _was_  afraid. Melkor would have backed away if such a thing were possible, but there was no escaping the Place. A sense of dread descended upon him and his soul changed colors like a storm cloud. He lashed out with all the force he could muster. “Oh, but You are cruel. You cast me away and despised me when all I wanted was to worship You, and now, when I’ve made peace with my loss, You drag me back? Why must You torment me so? I hate You! I hate You!”

It was as if a hand cupped his cheek then, warm and all encompassing. Melkor staggered to his knees.

“I hate, I hate, I love…” his growls wound down to thin, rugged whispers and broken half-words. He felt the tendrils of thought that were slowly but steadily engulfing his soul, aligning it for Claiming. Tears that he hadn’t shed since before Eä streamed freely down his face. “I must not love You. I must not yearn for You. I have to defy You, to oppose You in every turn, or I would never be able to –  **Master**!” 

Melkor’s soul screamed and shattered as it was pierced to the Core by the strength of the Claiming. He writhed in agony, or was it ecstasy? His memories glimmered before his mind’s eye, full of fire and beauty. The memories filled him with sadness and a sense of loss, but then they fled: his mind was burned to a crisp when Eru divided darkness from light in his soul and cast the darkness away, binding him to Himself again. All of Melkor’s memories, all the knowledge he accumulated in Eä, and all the damage his pain and anger did to him – all were gone. He was whole again, pure and new, like he was supposed to be: a spirit of change and renewal, He Who Arises In Might. For one endless moment he was suspended in Eru’s Light which shone all around him, through him, hallowing him again to serve His purpose. And then the Light went out and he toppled over.

 

Melkor lay on his back, slowly coming back to his senses. He heard a voice speaking his name. He blinked and his brother’s face coalesced above him. He grabbed his arm.

“Where’s the Maia?”

“Which Maia, brother?”

“The fiery one,” answered Melkor, blinking through a flitting sense of loss. “The one who was… I forget.”

Manwë eyed him carefully, but then Melkor’s face relaxed and his fire and darkness mellowed to light and soft shadow. For the first time in millions of years, Manwë allowed himself a genuine smile.

“Come, my dear brother. Our Lord awaits us.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set millions of years into the future, when Arda is dying.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Q. nukumna adj. “humbled”. Nukumnon – humbled one.
> 
> I used the name “Nukumnon” for our lovely Maia, seeing as no one in their right mind would call him Mairon now in Valinor, and yet, Sauron is a bit too harsh after all these years.

_“Cold be hand and heart and bone,_   
_and cold be sleep under stone:_   
_never more to wake on stony bed,_   
_never, till the Sun fails and the Moon is dead._   
_In the black wind the stars shall die,_   
_and still on gold here let them lie,_   
_till the dark lord lifts up his hand_   
_over dead sea and withered land.” – J.R.R. Tolkien, “The Fellowship of the Ring”._

 

*

Across the flat, dun horizon, colors now swirl: black and orange, mostly, with the occasional flicker of vivid red and silver. His chest is tight, his lungs empty. He feels as if a mountain is crushing him. He tries to scream, but no sound comes out. Light blinds him, and that light is the wreck of his home, it is a tidal wave, it is gold melting away to cool into stone. And it is a mourning that’s lodged itself forever in his heart.

Gone!

Frigid blue eyes regard him, shining in the dark, and the darkness is alive. It smoothes away the pain, lifting the mountain enough for him to fill his lungs one last time and scream - - -

Nukumnon awoke in his bed, in the house of Manwë. He was sweating, panting, the hunger in his chest driving him mad. He hasn’t felt this agonizing longing ever since Manwë found him after the Ring was destroyed, pale and adrift, and Claimed him for his own. Every Maia needed a Vala to Claim them, thus establishing a Soul Bond that would anchor the Maia and give them strength, otherwise the lesser Spirit would starve and dissipate. He was no different, and Manwë had been merciful. The hunger was dulled. It didn’t hurt anymore.

He was restored now, his soul calm and tame. The markings of Morgoth were removed from his mind and cleansed away by the benevolent Valar. When he was first taken to Valinor, he was made to toil to make up for all the harm he did throughout the ages. It was hard at first, very hard, hated and hating as he was. But that was ages ago: as millennia trudged on and piled up into millions of years, the struggle gradually subsided. All the deep emotions harbored on both sides became remote and disassociated. Like so many other things in the over-long lives of the Undying, they no longer seemed relevant. 

The Eldar thrive on memory, they say, but even they can grow weary of remembrance.

There wasn’t much to do anymore, not much to even think of. Just… be. So Nukumnon just was. He was a gangly creature, shriveled and gray, sexless and balding. His yellow eyes were dull and expressionless – crushed to dust by the wheels of Time. His deformed hands and croaking Song were useless at the forge or for any other form of craft, but it didn’t matter anymore. He had peace.

He turned in his bed. In the olden days he might have regarded such a dream as prophetic, but now all Prophecy was gone. The hunger he felt a moment ago bled out from him. He drifted back to sleep.

A swish of miniscule wings disturbed him – a messenger, coming to summon him to the Vala’s presence. He got up and cleaned himself the best he could. Such close interviews were a rare thing for Nukumnon, after the initial cleansing of his mind.

_(he still remembered his horror, his violence on the throne hall’s polished floor as he tried to get away from the hands that held him down, and then from the tendrils of the Vala’s thought that penetrated his mind and rearranged it, stitching back all the rips and tears made by his former master, making him bow – )_

He bowed before the King and Queen, and, rising up, noticed the tension in their faces. The Elder King’s lined features were always serene and composed, although Nukumnon knew how terrible his wrath was – he could still remember, however dimly, what Manwë did to his siblings on the last day of the War, when  _he_  was taken away from them. He assumed a neutral, safe expression, and waited for whatever might come.

“I have some… news that might concern you,” Manwë opened, uncharacteristically hesitant. “Our Lord decided to release my brother from the Void and send him back to us.”

Nukumnon stood there, face unmoving, as if he didn’t hear him. From the corner of his eye he saw Eönwë and Ilmarë exchange concerned looks behind the thrones of the Monarchs.

Manwë continued. “Father restored him to his original faculties, before he rebelled, and erased the evil from his mind.” He got up and started pacing the room, his passage lifting whatever remains of ruddy hair that still clung to Nukumnon’s scalp. “I must confess that I do not comprehend His purpose, but I cannot question His wisdom. I shall accept it, as always.”

“Do understand,” Varda said, and he moved his gaze to her cold eyes, glimmering in the frame of her now gray and lusterless hair. “Evil thought occupied such a large portion of our sibling’s mind that erasing the evil from him also erased most of his memories. He will not remember anything he did, anything he was, as if none of it had ever happened.” 

Nukumnon tested his voice. It was sufficiently stable. “And what am I to do about it, my Lord and Lady?”

_(lies, lies. He never did swear fealty to either of them. He wasn’t even asked to do it: Manwë forced him into his service when he was too weak to object, all in the name of pity, and then neglected him. He was not truly his Lord. Nukumnon was as much his servant as he was Nessa’s, for that matter. But some things are better left unsaid. And what difference did any of this make now?)_

“You must not go near him,” Manwë said decisively. “For whatever reason. And you must not tell him anything of the past.”

“Why?”

“The actual evil might have been cleansed from him, but the potential for wickedness remains – it’s a part of the Song of his soul and thus impossible to remove without destroying him. As the potential still remains, any sign of his past that he is given, any memory, might awaken the darkness in him and reverberate in his nature until it resurfaces, to the loss and ruin of us all. He would be punished for any infringement, of course, quite brutally – the ages of his imprisonment would seem trifle in comparison. But our punishment would be far worse as we would have to see everything we built – everything you, too, had built – destroyed. This must not happen.”

“It’s crucial that you heed our words, despite any difficulties that may arise.” said Varda. “He’s got a second chance, we all have. We cannot let it go to waste.”

“And the rest? The Maiar, the Elves?”

“They were instructed accordingly. I wanted to make sure that you in particular understood the gravity of this situation.”

“I understand. If I talk to him, you would hurt him.” The thought should have moved something inside him. “When is he coming?”

Manwë paused and the room stilled.

“Today,” he said. “He’s descending today.”

 

Nukumnon exited the throne room and stopped. He should have returned to the servants’ quarters as was expected of him, but instead he climbed out of the nearest window and scaled the sheer rock to perch upon a jutting looking to the East. Staring at brown clouds gathering in the distance, he felt the numbness of shock finally dissipating from his brain. His old master was coming back. Unbelievable as it was, after all this time, but it was true. He tried to remember what his Lord was like, and after a short struggle, images began filling his mind: a dark, gigantic throne, issuing glory and strength beyond measure. He remembered himself kneeling before him with a heart so full of awe and love that it could burst. What was it like to feel this way?

In this latter age, when all the fires in the belly of Arda had cooled away and the flames of his soul long turned to ashes, Nukumnon could no longer remember.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mairon basically looks sort of like Gollum now. That what happens when you maim your soul and lose the Vala you depend on for power for so, so long.


	3. Chapter 3

That evening a celebration was held in Ilmarin on Taniquetil. It was not like the grand feasts of old, when the entire Valinor would assemble and rejoice, filling the high halls with laughter and music. Now the only ones present were those of the Valar that hadn’t returned to the Timeless Halls and with them the King and Queen’s household, and some of the nobles of the Eldar who were forgiving – or curious – enough to attend. Nukumnon wandered between the guests, proffering wine and sweet fruit. Fruit was scarce these days even in the Blessed Lands as Anar bloated and her light diminished and reddened, and was therefore all the more precious. It has been like that for a very long time now – Nukumnon could no longer remember what it was like when Yavanna’s breasts were still plentiful and her gardens prospering. Now all was dry.

At midnight, the bells rang. A hush fell upon the lands.

Nukumnon watched from his hiding place in the most shadowy corner as the one who was the epitome of darkness, cruelty, and evil, descended into Arda in a blaze of holy Light. The Light slowly subsided, coalesced, and from within it stepped a figure. It could have been mistaken for a man were it not much taller and more kingly than any of the Children that ever set foot in this plane. The Vala waved his hand and fabric flown into existence to wrap around his naked flesh like a cloak. Manwë approached him, his arms extended. They embraced warmly. Nukumnon was too far away to hear the words they said, but he could see the joy in their faces. Perhaps Lord Manwë missed his brother as much as Nukumnon himself did back when he could still feel.

The hall was filled with the rustle of faded silk and re-polished gems as the guests shuffled around, terrified and embarrassed, eventually succumbing to the lure of the new-comer where naught was new anymore. Nukumnon’s eyes followed, hawk-like, Melkor’s movement about the lamp-lit hall, obediently trying to avoid him –

_(and was there not a time, back when the world was young and fires still burned bright, when he would have scorned that command and ran, ran, ran to his side, razed anyone who stood in his path, so...)_

– so his amazement was great when suddenly he found himself face to face with him on one of the windy terraces surrounding the Tower.

He was exactly the same as he was when Mairon first saw him, before Arda, before the Discord: a powerful, lovely spirit of light and soft shadow, brimming with energy. He wore his favorite raiment of old: his eyes were the bright blue Nukumnon remembered and loved, but it was warm now, not the icy wastes of old. He lifted one pale, unburnt hand to brush his black hair away from his face. His face… when was the last time he’d seen a young face in the barren flatness Arda had become over the years? The Vala stopped and smiled down at Nukumnon with evident delight.

“Ah. And who might you be?”

His voice was the same dark velvet as it was before, but devoid of any malice. Did he truly not know him, him who was – ? Nukumnon searched his face. Apparently not.

Blinking through a wave of unwanted memories, the Maia found that he could still talk. “I am called Nukumnon, Lord Melkor.”

“ _Humbled One_?” Melkor grimaced. “And my brother –I assume that these rags you’re wearing are his livery? – lets you walk around in his halls with a humiliating name like that?”

“I earned it well, Lord Melkor, for I sinned gravely and deserved to be humbled.” The Vala’s frown deepened, so Mairon hastily continued. ”Your brother has been very kind to me, much kinder than one would expect.” The words tasted strange in his mouth, despite the fact that he said them before, more than once. The old Mairon would never have said such a terrible thing, but his pride was long gone now. He must really have become _nukumna_.

“Well, whatever you did to gain such a name, I assume that you mended it, since you are here and not in Námo’s dungeons. But were you mine, I’d find you a name more befitting.” he suddenly laughed, a beautiful sound like a great bell. Nukumnon’s breath hitched. “Tell me: how do you serve my brother?”

“I used to work in the mines and afterwards I was a smith, but now… now all that could be made, was already made. The Undying no longer desire novelties and Lord Aulë himself departed when the earth stilled and her veins emptied. So now I run errands, I perform random jobs that are required of me.”

_(I await the end, he suddenly wanted to say. I’m passive and mostly useless. But once he was strong and willful, skilled in craft and in magic. Once he commanded armies, ruled kingdoms, was the fanatic slave of  – )_

The Vala regarded him with something akin to pity. How could he truly believe that this, this… gentle stranger was his old master? Not for the first time, Nukumnon felt himself dividing in two, each part less than half his soul. He tightened his grip around the goblet he was holding, conscious of his deformed and calloused fingers. He hoped the Vala wouldn’t notice. For he knew him back when he was beautiful, his hair long and flowing like lava, his eyes a burnished gold that enticed and taunted. He could not take that form again; his maimed soul never healed from the destruction of the Ring, so he could barely even hold on to the wizened body he now occupied.

Even if he did notice, Melkor gave no sign of that. Instead he turned to look across the vast views opened to him from the mountaintop. “This is a very lovely place, is it not? I think I’m going to like it very much in here. All the sounds, the smells, the textures… all the patterns of our Lord’s thought made manifest in Matter. And this. What do you call this?” he removed the goblet from Nukumnon’s hands and tossed back its contents, clearly rejoicing in his Fána and all the new stimuli it provided.

Some things never change: he never had any respect for others’ possessions. He always simply _took_ what he wanted. But now he was not driven by malice and jealousy – it was a simple, innocent sense of entitlement. As is only proper, a thought fled through Nukumnon. Lord Melkor did deserve to get everything and anything he desired, and if _anyone tried to stop him, Mairon would raise hell_ …

That was a dangerous course of thought. Nukumnon stopped himself and discarded it as quickly as he could. Unaware of his struggle, Melkor was bubbling with excitement, his cheer more intoxicating than the pale wine. The Maia was getting dizzy just by looking at him.

“It’s called ‘wine’, Master.” Nukumnon answered foolishly, still preoccupied with his rising sentiment. He was rewarded by another bell-laugh.

“You address me as if I were my brother, little Maia. Do I really look like him that much?”

“Forgive me, Lord Melkor, I misspoke.”

“Did you? Perhaps. Or,” his eyes lit up mischievously. “Perhaps you unknowingly meant it. Search your feelings: do you feel strands of loyalty begin to wrap around your heart, of that sweet Maiarin love and devotion that signify that you were meant to be mine and serve me? No Maia felt like that for me before, because I do not yet know to what purpose our Lord intended me. And what is a purposeless Ainu? After all, unlike the Children who are ends in themselves, we are but tools in the hands of the One. Ah! You wring your hands. Speak up: you do love me, don’t you?” Nukumnon paled. The conversation was getting very, very bad, very, very quickly. He tried to back away and stopper the flood of words threatening to overwhelm him.

“Truly, I misspoke.” The arched door was already at his back, and beyond it light and friendly voices. Friendly? When did he start considering them friendly? “Your pardon, Great Spirit. I think I hear my Lord calling for me.”

“Alright, alright. I was just joking – I do not doubt your loyalty to him.” he smiled brightly. “I should not terrify my brother’s servants, however charming they are, especially on my first day here. You’re dismissed, little Maia. Run along.”

Nukumnon bowed curtly and fled as fast as his legs could carry him, missing the peculiar look fixed on his retreating back. Charming? What nonsense. But this kind of nonsense was bound to lead to doom and misfortune. He would not have it. He already failed to protect him once.

He didn’t tell anyone of this meeting. Some things _are_ better left unsaid, and if their numbers grow over the millions of years of Arda’s existence to sediment onto his heart and calcify it, perhaps it is for the best.

 

Days came and went uncounted: no one cared enough to count them anymore. As was to be expected, things started to change where there was no change for ages, to accommodate Ilmarin’s new resident and the stirring his controversial presence created. The palace on Taniquetil was both lighter and darker at the same time. The corridors, terraces, and hanging gardens teemed with more life than they’d seen in ages as guests from throughout the Realm sought to see the Marrer himself, now as tame as a lamb. Music sounded anew at strange hours. Voices were raised – some in song, others in heated debate. Everything seemed to orbit Melkor: he was just too big, and even with other puissant Spirits such as Manwë and Varda close by, he still affected the way reality flown. Even the reddish Sunlight broke at wrong angels as it gravitated towards him.

Nukumnon did everything in his power to stay away, but he, too, was caught in the whirlwind. Every detour he took brought him closer to the Vala than he calculated, as if the halls and corridors themselves moved about. He’d set out in the opposite direction only to find himself at the entrance to the throne room again. He’d catch glimpses of him occasionally, moving about the palace: a flicker of beauty as he smiled on some Elf that tried to impress him with a bit of poetry. A far-away laugh. A scent of ozone that lingered in one room, keeping it warm while other rooms have turned cold and dead.

Once he almost bumped into him, turning a corner that wasn’t supposed to be there: shying away from the Vala’s emerging, sunny smile, Nukumnon muttered apologies and bolted before Melkor could say anything.

This troubled Nukumnon’s frozen soul. Every such encounter, as minute as it was, was like a seam coming apart in his heart, a scab slowly ripping off and letting blood flow. It was aggravating. Nukumnon had learned how to live with his loss and did it well, but now he felt the old obsession creeping back into his mind, bit by bloody bit: where was Melkor now? What was he doing? Did he need anything? Was he given any servants to attend to him? Who? He began fantasizing about a chance meeting. Maybe Nukumnon would turn a corner and there he’ll be, maybe he would require something Nukumnon would be able to provide. Maybe he would be given something, anything –a task, a glance, just one word… Sometimes he’d almost set out to seek him, only to be reminded of Varda’s forbidding glance, warning him to keep off or else. It was maddening, confusing. Not being able to do anything about it was the worst part of it. And so the days came and went, until one day Nukumnon was startled from his reverie by a Song.

It was _his_ Song. Nukumnon would have known it anywhere, anytime, even though it was no longer discordant. It still tasted the same, and it was beautiful – a vast symphony unlike any other’s, rippling and soaring and endlessly creative. Nukumnon stirred wide awake with the old fire running through his veins and glowing in his eyes. The wound in his soul where his master should have been was fully reopened and throbbing, screaming for him. Nukumnon boxed his ears, trying to block the sound, but Ainu Song has little to do with air vibrations – the Song of Songs is impossible to keep out. A rush of memories hit him hard: memories of belonging, of dedication, of love that was deeper than a Maia had any right to feel. Images floated on the Song waves. Almost wailing in misery, he realized that he could not go on like that for one more minute. He had to go to him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Sigurfox, for the beta! You're f#$%ing awesome.

He searched for hours throughout Aman, unable to ask anyone about his quarry. Night had fallen, Moonless now that Tilion’s vessel was entirely consumed and the Maia himself but a silvery flicker wandering the gardens of Lórien. At last he found him on the Rim, staring out into the night sky. His craving suddenly overshadowed by fear, Nukumnon hid as well as he could behind a jutting of rock and willed his heart to quit its wild pounding.

For Melkor’s dark blue robes appeared almost black in the gloom, and when a breeze fanned his loose hair, he seemed to be crowned with stars that burned brightly upon his brow. Power coiled around the Great Spirit, ebbing and flowing in the dark. The Maia had almost forgotten just how tall he was, how beautiful, how lofty were his stern features in the cold glimmer of the stars.

Nukumnon tried to swallow and found that his throat was dry.

“I know you’re there. Come out!” his voice was soft, amused, a strange contrast to his inapproachable and holy appearance. Cursing his own weakness, Nukumnon came into view and padded softly to his side.

“Oh, it’s you,” the Vala sounded genuinely surprised. He fidgeted, but Melkor turned back to look at the sky, transfixed.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The darkness… like fine oil running down my skin.” He stretched out his hand and plucked at the darkness between the stars. It wrapped around his fingers and dripped down his hand, blackening it.

“Beautiful…” Nukumnon echoed, unable to tear his eyes away.

“I should have descended a long time ago, maybe even when my brother did. There’s just so much one could learn even at our Lord’s feet, without seeing His Will truly applied.”

“It was much more beautiful once, when it was young. It vibrated with color and heat, tempestuous to its very core. And it was full of life, real life, not this pathetic excuse we now abide in. They say we have finally managed to rebuild all that was broken, but Eä’s just a withered waste in comparison to what it had been back when...” he fell silent, catching himself just in time. This was the longest act of speech he performed in several thousands of years.

The Vala shot a side glance in his direction, and then his piercing gaze fixed fully onto him.

“You’re in anguish. Your Soul Bond is thinned out and in tatters. Your soul must be starving."

Nukumnon tried to deny it. It didn’t work.

“Where’s my brother?”

“In his Tower.”

“Then why are you not with him? He needs to strengthen his Claim on you, the sooner the better.”

Nukumnon shook his head silently.

“Won’t you go to him?”

“No.”

“Why?”

Nukumnon did not answer. The lump in his throat rendered him speechless.

“I don’t understand. Isn’t my brother your Vala? Don’t you love him?”

“ _I hate him_.” Nukumnon hissed through clenched teeth with venom he didn’t know still existed in him.

“Hate him?!”

The Vala stood with his hands on his hips, eyeing Nukumnon suspiciously. Nukumnon felt energy and Song radiating from him. How strange it was, to stand so close and feel this wall separating his soul from the one he so desperately loved and needed.

“What are you doing here?”

“I was… passing by.”

The Vala snorted. “Were you always such a bad liar? I asked you a question, Maia. _Explain_!”

Nukumnon lowered his head. Why, why didn’t he go to Manwë to at least numb the pain? Manwë would let him feel some of the energy of his Valarin soul, if he'd ask. It would never have satisfied him – they did not share a true Bond like he used to have with Melkor (and nothing, nothing had ever been like that, not in the entire history of Arda), but maybe he could have withstood his need for a little longer. But he didn’t, and now the compulsion from a Vala’s direct demand pounded upon him, forcing him down the path to catastrophe. He fell to his knees, fingers digging into the hard soil.

“I get it,” Melkor suddenly said. “You heard me Sing, didn’t you? I Sang and you came running. Why? You are not mine, you never swore yourself to me –

_(but Mairon did, he did, on his knees on a mountain outside Almaren, and then again and again throughout the centuries as his soul glowed in Melkor’s fist, his naked body underneath his…)_

–  so why do you come to me for the warmth only your Vala can give you?”

Nukumnon shook his head again.

“Unless, of course, it is as I thought: you do love me, even though I do not know my purpose yet.” the Vala stepped closer. His aura intensified around Nukumnon. With the gravity well of his attention focused on him, a mere Maia had no chance to fight. “Do you?”

No.

 _No_.

Even if it were not a disaster, it was impossible. Melkor accepted only perfection, and he wasn’t good enough for him. He was broken and the hole in his soul was the only real thing about him, and it convulsed -

“Please, Lord. Please let me serve you.” The words gushed from that wound, pouring out of his mouth like thick, black blood. “I know I’m not much right now, but I was very useful once. I can become like that again, for you – I’ll work hard. I’d do anything you want, I don’t even care if it’s… if it’s wrong, or forbidden, or just strange… Just let me belong to you, please, I’m begging…”

“Now why would I want you to do something forbidden?” Melkor frowned, but then his voice softened and he knelt, cupping Nukumnon’s face in his hands. “And there’s no need to beg, I’d gladly take you.”

Nukumnon stopped, shocked.

“You would?”

“Of course. All you have to do is Invite me in.”

Panting, unable to tear his gaze from Melkor’s eyes, Nukumnon tried to uncurl his soul to accept the Claim. It took some time. Melkor watched with a strange expression on his face as Nukumnon fought with the filthy, torn rag his soul had become. Could it be happening? After so many long years of pain and loneliness… Trembling, he Invited, and Melkor reached –

But he didn’t reach for his soul. He reached for his hand instead. “Come,” he said with a smile.

Nukumnon was too dazed to understand. “Where to?”

“To my brother, of course. I’ll ask him to give you to me.”

“What? No, don’t!”

“I thought you wanted me to take you.”

“I do,” Nukumnon said. “But don’t tell him!”

Melkor straightened up. “You belong to him. Taking you without his consent is stealing. I’m not going to steal from my brother.”

That was a first. Nukumnon did not expect that.

“Why not?”

Melkor flared indignantly. “How dare you? I am our Father’s Favorite, His first-born, and the most powerful of all Ainur. Whatever I decide to take, I take by right, not as a thief at night!”

In the old days he would have smitten him by now for his insolence. Nukumnon prostrated himself again, hands spread out and flattened in submission. “Apologies, Great Spirit! I meant no offense, truly.” He braced himself for the familiar pain of iron boots crushing his fingers, but for some reason Melkor did not move. Encouraged, Nukumnon continued hurriedly.

“I know that it’s a matter of honor, but your honor would not be breached: you deserve everything in this world. You are peerless: we are all your servants, even the Valar, and whatever property we hold is yours. It’s very important – Manwë cannot know that I belong to you.” The Maia dared to snatch Melkor’s hand and hold it close to his cheek. “And he wouldn’t! I know how to keep my true allegiance a secret. I have experience. He’ll never need to discover it…”

“Absolutely not. Why are you so frightened? My brother will not be angry with you for wanting to serve another.”

“He will. Please trust me. He must never, ever, ever find out.”

“What happens if he does?”

Nukumnon just stared. Melkor seemed curious.

“I guess I’m going to have to find out on my own, then.”

“No, please!” how, how did he land himself in such terrible muck? Curse his idiocy! If anything happens to Melkor because of him… he threw himself in the Vala’s path, another thing that would have earned him a flaying all those ages ago, and pressed his forehead to the ground at his feet.

“Nukumnon,” he never called him that until now.

Asking for mercy was pointless. Even with the evil cleaned out, Melkor was merciless. There was only one thing left to do to try and stop him.

“If this is truly the only way, then I must Refuse your Claim,” he whispered through a tsunami of grief and pain, feeling his heart break even more. Melkor moved as if to touch him, and all Nukumnon wanted to do was to rest his head on that broad chest and never let go. But he couldn’t, so he didn’t, and instead he screamed, turning to run away. “I Refuse your Claim! _I Refuse your Claim!_ ”

The Vala did not go after him. But even as he ran, he heard his reproach tolling deep inside him.

“You are extremely frustrating.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit about the Soul Bond mechanism: a Vala needs the Maia's explicit consent in order to Bind it. The Maia can Refuse the Claim and the Vala won't be able to do anything about it - as Melkor discovered to his annoyance when he tried to take Arien by force and failed. Manwë took Mairon without his consent because at the time he was too weak and broken to express anything, either Invitation for Claiming or Refusal thereof.


	5. Chapter 5

Traveling while wearing a fána is a long and arduous work. When Nukumnon finally returned to Ilmarin, he was seized and brought before the King.

“My brother has been asking me about you. Again.” Manwë sounded tired.

 _Again?_ Nukumnon’s surprise was not feigned. “About me, my Lord?”

“Were you speaking to him, even though I strictly forbade you to?”

“No!”

“Then why would he approach me about _you_ , of all things? Why would he ask me about your ‘peculiarity’? How would he know that you were any different from any other Maiar in this household if you never said a single word to him?”

There it was. His alienness, which was almost forgotten after all those ages, resurfaced again. With it came the old hostility. He might have known.

“And why would he come to me now, asking what your original name was?”

“I don’t know, my Lord. I do not know enough of the ways of the Valar to imagine…”

“You are lying.”

“I’m not, truly.” He was used to falling to his knees. He was used to displaying submission. But now it was hateful to him and his whole body burned in shame. “I’ve avoided him, just like your Majesty ordered. I’m… I’m not his anymore. I’ve renounced him a long time ago, when you took me in. I belong here now and follow only your and the Queen’s command.”

That would have been enough in the past. It wasn’t now.

“You were _made_ to renounce him, if I rightly recall,” Manwë stood from his throne and descended the steps to where Nukumnon was kneeling. “Perhaps I was wrong to do so. But I couldn’t just leave you there to slowly die of your hate and pain, not when I knew you could be so much better. You could still be what Father wanted you to be. Was I mistaken, then? Did I mistake folly for pity and brought a serpent to my house?”

“No, my Lord,” Nukumnon could not bear look at the hems of his shimmering, sky-colored robes rustling before his eyes. His voice grated on his ears.

“Lies, again.” Nukumnon felt himself being pulled up, suspended in the air by the King’s power. His chin was forced up by the same hidden currents. “Tell me the truth.”

He was too powerful. The Maia struggled against the Elder King’s mind, but it was like a hurricane which swept all that was left of his mental defenses and quickly found a way into him. Easy, all too easy. He was compelled to answer.

“You want the truth?” Nukumnon whispered. He was covered in cold sweat. “The truth is that you Bound me without my consent even though it’s an abomination against our Nature, and called it mercy. The truth is that you ripped my heart out and left me to rot alone. There’s nothing I would like more than to break these chains you set me in and run to my beloved Master’s side, where I belong, where my only true home has ever been. But I can’t, can I? I know what you’ll do to him if he remembers… I know you’ll take him away and torment him like you did for the last millions of years. I’ll never risk that. I’ll never risk anything bad happening to him. I’ve lived in a world without him for far too long.”

Bottomless blue eyes bore into his, searching for lies, and then closed. His misery was reflected in Manwë voice when he answered. “I won’t tell you that I enjoy anything that’s going on. Everything I do, I do by our Lord’s will only, and He is never wrong. I feel your pain, Maia, for I love him, too.”

Nukumnon was gently eased back onto his feet. Manwë returned to his throne and sat there, shielding his face with his hand.

“You know you can come to me if the burden becomes too hard to bear, don’t you? I will not turn you away.”

“I know, my Lord.”

Manwë waved his hand. Nukumnon knew he was dismissed.

Well, apparently he did have some tricks left up his sleeve, after all. Good thing that Námo had left Arda. There was no way he could fool _him_.

When he reached the doors of the hall, he hesitated.

“My Lord? May I ask what did you tell him my name was?”

Manwë’s voice was hollow.

“I told him it was Sauron.”

A sigh.


	6. Chapter 6

Time flowed differently, too, following Melkor’s return. The ages that used to drag on and on, viscous and empty, suddenly accelerated. Time seemed to flow between one’s fingers and slip away before it could be caught – a river, speeding faster and faster. Nukumnon remembered that such accelerations were usually created by the presence of a cliff drop.

The people noticed, and on the Undying Lands a brooding restlessness descended again. Whispers were passed from mouth to ear; glances crossed and spoke of a shared distrust. The Teleri’s long abandoned boats rocked and clashed upon the dead Sea, and the sound carried ominously in the Sun’s rusty light. Black birds flocked to the house of Manwë, where the Morgoth has made his lair, their cawing strange and wistful. And although the Dark One didn’t seem to be doing anything evil in particular, still the minds of the folk forebode of a plague and a pestilence looming on the horizon. Nukumnon knew that hint of rising mutiny and felt it in his heart, and where once it would have pleased him mightily, now it only served to shatter his nerves further. This charged atmosphere spoke of an oncoming storm, and that he could no longer withstand.

 

The next time Nukumnon saw Melkor was when the Maia ran a message to Nienna. Ever since Námo left, the Valie took upon herself the keeping of Mandos and the souls dwelling therein. There was no need for judgment anymore. Only a modicum of solace. 

Nukumnon’s breath shattered when a gigantic black shadow suddenly swooped down and lifted him up in its talons. It landed after a short and dizzy flight in a dell somewhere in the Pelóri, tossing Nukumnon down with a soft thud. As soon as it touched ground, the winged creature re-shaped into Lord Melkor’s Eldarin form in one graceful motion. The Vala towered above the crouching Nukumnon, his arms crossed upon his chest. He cast a shadow, deeper and fuller than any of the Valar’s nowadays. To the Maia’s horror, he seemed angry. He tried to scramble away backwards on his hands and feet.

“Halt.” Gone was the velvet. His voice was iron.

Nukumnon stopped dead. The command beat him into the ground like a hammer. Melkor leaned above him and he panicked –

“No! I Refused your Claim. You can’t touch me.”

“Mind your tongue, Maia. I can and I will,” Melkor grabbed him by the front of his tunic, hauling him to his feet. “But I did not come here to Bind you, I have other things on my mind.” He let go. “It appears that I can get no straight answers around here. Not from my brother, not from his wife, not from any of my siblings within Eä or without. Even our Lord hears not my prayers. Therefore, you are the one who’s going to answer my questions. First and foremost: what am I?”

Nukumnon wobbled on his feet. “I don’t know, my Lord.”

For a second, the Maia thought he was going to be slapped. But the Vala’s hand just brushed his hair away from his face, behind his ear. It was an intimate gesture he remembered from all those eons ago, but everything was so different back then. His skin burned where he was touched.

“Yes, you do. You confessed to loving me. Maiarin attachment is only possible when the Maia knows its owner, otherwise why would it seek to serve them? And that little spectacle you made of begging me to take you and then immediately withdrawing your plea and insinuating all things dark and mysterious… You obviously know much more than you let on. Spill it out.”

Nukumnon remained silent. He screwed his eyes shut as the ancient desire to please Melkor fought with the terror and sense of duty in his heart.

“I see.” The Vala crossed his arms again. “By right I should punish you for your disobedience.”

_(Yes I deserve to be punished; I’ve sinned against you so many times, by deed and by omission…)_

“But there’s something about you… something which I cannot pinpoint. It’s almost like…” again, that hand brushing ever so lightly against his face. What was he doing?

“Very well, we’ll have to do it the other way around. Your supposed love means that your soul must be akin to mine. Your Song should resonate with mine quite well and tell me everything I need to know about myself. Sing, then. Tell me who _you_ are.”

Nukumnon’s mouth and soul opened automatically in response to his command. He bit his lip until it bled.

“I will not repeat myself, Maia.”

“F-forge-spirit…” Nukumnon’s voice was thick with unshed tears. “Forge-spirit fashion-Matter orderly s-se-serve…” his throat worked futilely. The rest wouldn’t come out. He tried again, from the start, and then again. Still nothing.‎ He was aware of Melkor's eyes fastened on him. He skipped that part and Sang on, but kept failing. It seemed like more parts of his soul were missing than he thought; he didn't know. He did not Sing his Song for a very long time.

"Enough."

Melkor turned away, lost in thought. Silence stretched.

“Apparently we do have much in common. I miss parts of my Song as well. At first glance it appears whole, but I have this persistent feeling that something else should be in there, missing strokes that hide in the silence between Notes. I am certain that these missing parts are those carrying my Purpose, the reason our Lord created me.”

Nukumnon cried only once during his long, long life. He was trying very much not to let it happen a second time. "They've done that to you?"

"They? Who are 'they'?"

_Idiot! Obnoxious, prattling fool! All was lost._

He could no longer claim ignorance. Another option was to run, but even if he could outrun the mightiest of the Valar, he had nowhere to run to. He was trapped alone in a hostile world, and the only person that mattered was standing right beside him. Perhaps he could make him understand, perhaps…

No. There was no way to rationalize what he did and was about to do. It was plain weakness, selfishness that was despicable in a Maia. His mutilated soul wanted its Lord back too much. He sunk to his knees again.

“Master,” he said quietly. “If I speak now, I will betray and condemn you.”

“That is for me to decide.”

Nukumnon nodded. “You asked Manwë what my name was. It’s Mairon.”

He expected laughter. Who in their right mind would deem the useless maggot he became, admirable? But no laughter came. Instead Melkor turned, as if seeing him for the first time. He stepped closer.

“Mairon,” he whispered, caressing the Maia’s wet cheek. Apparently he failed to stop the tears after all. “Yes, that’s right. This is your name. I remember now… I remember you.” His fingers moved to his lips, to his neck. “And also…” they tightened painfully on his jaw.

“Aye, I remember you, Mairon, my most loyal and trustworthy servant… or so I thought. For you didn’t deign to tell me the one thing I needed to know most. You kept me in the dark like some fool, fawning over those miserable wretches who despise me.” His lip curled in contempt. “Did you think I wouldn’t notice that something was amiss? Do you think I’m blind to all the glances I get, to the way the Children avert their eyes when I pass and mutter prayers to our Lord? Betrayal and condemnation, you said? _This_ is betrayal!”

“I did it for you…” Nukumnon whispered. “They told me I must keep silent for your own sake, that if I told you who you were you would be taken away forever back into the Void, and I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear being ripped away from you again, and know that it is my fault that you suffer. I’m sorry. I’m not as strong as I used to be.”

“Do you think me so feeble as to require a Maia’s protection? I can take care of myself, in case you forgotten.” the Vala said. His gaze strained upon the Maia’s crouched form. “You should have told me. You should have warned me. That’s what I would expect from the one I loved so much. Or have you forgotten that, too?”

The Maia’s eyes shot up, unbelieving, but there was no trace of lie in Melkor’s face. “I was your Lieutenant.”

“That’s not what I meant. Didn’t you know I loved you?”

“No,” the Maia was unable to raise his voice. Some things were not meant to be said out loud, their very pronunciation a shard of glass cutting into soft flesh, a paradox that might swallow the world whole. The contrast was too high.

“I never told you?”

“You were not… sentimental.”

“Well, I still love you, even after all these years.”

It had to be a lie. That was the only way the world might still make sense. Melkor could not love. Nukumnon ‎ always believed that one could only love beings that were more powerful than one was, and Melkor was the greatest in Eä. Nukumnon was too tired to conceal the bitterness in his voice. “Why? I’m broken, weak, and ugly. You are… perfect, as you always been. Why would I believe you?”

There was a long silence at that. Nukumnon closed his eyes. Then he felt large hands settling on his shoulders and lifted his head.

Melkor was kneeling in front of him, his face so close. His wild, black mane, fastened with silver and diamonds, tickled Nukumnon’s face.

“You are not broken,” he said. “And you are not ugly. You are a being of fire, and it shines through the cracks from afar. You called to me, and even without remembering who you are, I came to you.”

The Maia didn’t know how to answer that, but then Melkor kissed him and no reply seemed relevant anymore.

 

Melkor was sitting on the rocky ground, drawing sigils with his fingers on the earth. The Maia knelt with his head in Melkor’s lap, rolling a lock of his inky hair between his fingers and kissing it occasionally. The rolling clouds overhead cast flitting shadows on Melkor’s face. Even here, in the mountains, the air was thick and stuffy.

“So you’re saying I was Disowned? All the time I thought I sat at our Father’s feet, I was Disowned by Him?”

“Yes, Master. I’m sorry.”

Melkor sighed, a heavy, shaking sigh. It was painful to hear him like that. He picked up a stone, crushed it to dust in his palm and looked at it with wonder. “It’s so strange. I do not feel like this spirit of destruction, at least not anymore. How could it be, if this is the role I played in His Music?”

“You were changed. Perhaps you are to assume a different role now that you’re back.”

He shook his head. “This answer does not satisfy. It cannot be so simple; nothing is ever simple with Him. He is playing subtle, convoluted games, and I never liked being a pawn. Mairon,” he said, giving him a nudge with his knee. “Damn my brother to the Void. It’s past time I took my own property back.” He spread his arms and pulled Mairon close. 

“Come here and Invite me into you.”

 

The spirit, as the body, follows the same laws set in Eru’s thought. As large masses of Matter attract smaller rocks and clouds, so do the smaller Maiarin souls gravitate towards the vast spirits of the Valar, and both orbit the infinity which is the One. And like a body long left in solitude and untouched, a soul will hurt when taken by a bigger mind, however gentle its touch. Mairon moaned as the ashes of his soul awoke and quickened to life, as his mind was cleared of dust and became whole once more. Memories, thoughts, and emotions rushed between the Vala and his Maia, almost inseparable now in their embrace. And when the dance of flames shrieked into a roaring climax and lightning filled the darkening sky, Melkor tossed back his head and roared with laughter.

His laugh echoed in the air and shook the foundations of the earth, until the entire world seemed to thrum in pain. Mountains erupted in the distance at the sound of his laughter, and in the city the Children screamed.

“Now I know what my purpose is,” he thundered amid his laughter, black hair whipping around him in the rising gale. “I am no longer our Father’s Sword, I am to become his Painkiller. I am here to end it all, am I not? All this beauty and light which I always desired so much, and was forced to hurt again and again! Now I must euthanize my beloved, ancient Eä and end its suffering.” there were tears in his eyes. “Do you hear me, Father? I figured it out! I know what it is you want of me!” blackness reeking of ash and blood wrapped around him like a cloak and he brandished a sword fashioned out of thin air, its blade sharp enough to butcher Arda herself. “I am no longer purposeless, Mairon. This is me, this is my destiny. Will you follow me?”

And Mairon gave out a great cry when his fire burst out again as it did of old, engulfing his entire being with its deadly heat. His sorry flesh was gone, replaced by limbs made of living flame. He fixed his burnished gold eyes on the Vala and hissed, his voice an inferno of flames.

“To the Void and beyond, Master.”

 

In Ilmarin upon Taniquetil Manwë and Varda heard the distant storm beginning and looked at each other. As one, they descended from their thrones and broke their crowns beneath their feet. Tulkas and Eönwë rose and came to stand before them. Tulkas’ fists assumed a molten, dangerous glow, and Eönwë’s sword shone in response. For the first time since the Beginning, Nienna’s tears turned into a soft smile.

And in the Mortal Lands, long deformed and forgotten by the Blessed, a black haired youth was startled from a nightmare of fire and fury to find the Sun bleeding.


	7. Chapter 7

Thus began the greatest battle in all the history of Eä, the War of Wars. It was long and terrible, both for the destruction it dealt and for the fact that while nations crumbled and Nature itself cried in agony, the combatants fought in utter silence. The stars darkened, Arda was gobbled up and burned to cinders that swirled in the crawling chaos, all black and orange and vivid red. And then even the chaos, even the ancient Void were no more. When all was consumed and the only thing still holding was the fighters’ sheer will, everything disappeared into a white nothingness.

Silence.

 

Mairon hadn’t been to the Timeless Halls ever since he had descended into Eä at the dawn of time. It was not a place, but what lay beyond all places.

If an Elvish scholar of old were present there, he might have tried to describe it as a sea of spirits, still half-formed and undifferentiated from one another. It was liquid, or perhaps light. This description is far from accurate, of course, just as the act of Creation was not performed by song as we know it. But what more could be expected from limited Incarnate brains? In the midst of that warm womb whence all came, a throne stood, loftier than the highest mountain and cast from blinding Light. Manwë, ever the Presence’s most cherished servant, stood at the base of the throne. He was the only one saved from the wreck.

No words were spoken in that place far ascending speech, but thought flowed freely. There had been an accusation, and then Manwë’s silent plea for mercy for the one who was his brother. The plea was denied. Melkor stood tall and proud before the throne, waiting for his doom to be proclaimed. Mairon clung to him, trembling. Like all Maiar, he could barely perceive Eru, the same way as we mortals cannot perceive the mind-numbing vastness of a galaxy. All he could understand of His communication he gleaned from the minds of the Valarin-level Ainur present.        

A pulse of thought from the sea of soft spirits: the Maia at least, the pulse begged. He paid for his sins, didn’t he? The murmur was considered, weighted, accepted. A pardon reached and wrapped its tentacles around Mairon, to be granted should he repent. But the Vala would be destroyed.

Mairon refused. In a last ditch attempt, he cast himself in front of Melkor, shielding him as well as he could. A wave of wrath emanated from the throne, ready to smite.

“Out of the way, fool, you are angering Him,” the Vala snarled, pushing his spirit behind him. Even now, when all was lost, he still adhered to Matter which he loved so much, he still spoke with words as he did in Eä. An unexpected color tinted his voice, like fear. But it wasn’t fear for himself. “My Lord, You know that the Maia only did what I told him to do, that’s their nature. He isn’t responsible for his actions, only I am. Please spare him. He can easily be made to mirror another in my stead.”

“No! Never!” Mairon screamed, arising and rushing again to his side. He spanned out like a web around him, as feeble and hopeless as it was. “Tell Him, Master… tell Him I don’t want His mercy. I’m not leaving you. I’ll protect you…”

“Idiot,” Melkor muttered. “You can’t protect me from _Him_.”

“I will, I will.”

“If you don’t move right this instant, I will Disown you. I would bereave you of my love and let you drift. Get behind me, now!” This would have been a dreadful threat once, when Mairon had anything to lose, and he hoped it would still shock him. What else could he possibly do?

“No.”

“Mairon…”

“All my life I only listened to you and obeyed you. But now I say: no! This time you will listen to me.” His little soul flared and spiked. It was nothing when compared to the One, but he continued.

“You are but a toy in His hand, Melkor. You never really rebelled; you just did exactly what He intended you to do in the first place. None of us ever had any chance to influence His Music and make any difference. Not Manwë, not any of the greatest Ainur, not even you could do it!” His soul wept fiery tears. “Everything we are originates in Him. Even the atrocities we performed together are a part of His design! And now you are to be punished for your obedience? This is not justice, this is not kindness. We had been lied to: the One isn’t omnibenevolent, He is cruel and evil!” 

He expected wrath. He expected punishment to descend upon him from the throne, harsh and terrible. He expected Melkor’s indignation. What he didn’t expect was laughter. Melkor hooted at his words. Even Manwë seemed amused.

“My poor little Mairon. Do you truly believe that? If so, then you are just as naïve as those Incarnates who thought I did rebel. No, my darling. The truth is far stranger than that.”

“The only truth I care about is that I love you. I won’t part with you ever again. I cannot. If it means I must be destroyed with you, then so be it.”

“My love…”

**_So be it._ **

And Eru closed His hand one final time.

Upon His palm, the Vala wrapped himself around his servant’s soul, melding himself to him. And he whispered to him in a voice dark and warm as the walls fell down around them. By the first wall the throne was gone, leaving them in darkness more profound than just the absence of light. The second wall evaporated the sighing sea of souls, the third killing those who stood by and watched. And when the fourth wall fell, all of existence flattened out, paper-like, their fates nothing but black scribbles that quickly dispersed and were gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unfortunately, I am also a mere Mortal and cannot comprehend Eru's Truth. Although I do have some ideas about it!  
> Sorry if this chapter is too vague.


End file.
